


Hemorrhage

by masterwords



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Injury, Gun Violence, Hurt Aaron Hotchner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:55:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27800341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterwords/pseuds/masterwords
Summary: Hotch is shot in pursuit of an unsub through busy city streets.  (Just a short one-shot, not so much a story as a moment in time.)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	Hemorrhage

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up with this image in my head and I needed to write it out.

He felt the bullet tear through the meat of his shoulder before he even saw the man with the gun. Was he slipping as he got older? His younger self would never have missed the man with the gun, he was sure of that as he slid against the brick wall, blood smearing behind him, pooling in the tiny crevices where the mortar was chipped away. The man with the gun stared at him from behind sunglasses with false bravado – he thought he was safe, but Hotch was just catching his breath, give him some time and he'd be up and running again. He slid further down the wall, trembling fingers finding their way to the wound, pressing one, and then two inside the hole, his face set in stone in the most terrifying way. The man with the gun cocked his head to the side, watching the FBI agent feel around inside of his own wound. He could feel the bullet lodged in his joint, and he was thankful for that – it was the little things with this job that helped you get your guy. He hugged his arm close to his body and pressed his palm to the wound to slow the bleeding, his mind racing. This luxury of time the unsub, Joshua Maynard with his gun and his explosives and his complete lack of impulse control, had gifted him was almost gone, he knew, and he'd be damned if he was going to take a bullet and not take the man who shot it down with him. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and he glanced down at it, leaving Maynard just enough time to turn on his heel and begin walking away. He had the nerve to walk, not run – Hotch would make sure he regretted his ego. He slid back up the wall, scraping his back all the way up and answered his phone as he lumbered toward where the unsub had been moments before. 

“Garcia, what is it?” he snapped, and he heard her gasp on the other end. He hadn't meant to be so harsh, now he'd have to buy her a coffee or a donut or something to make it up to her. Getting shot didn't exactly bring out the best in him. 

“I'm sorry, fearless leader, but I just...I know its silly but I was worried about you. Are you alright?”

“You were worried about me?” he stammered, picking up his pace now. He could see the man just ahead of him, but there were too many people around, too many people looking at him like he was insane, widening their paths to avoid the wild eyed bleeding man in the FBI kevlar that only covered so much. 

“I know, I know its silly but that man is out there and he's armed and just tell me you're okay and...”

“I've been shot, Penelope. I'm okay, just...”

“Oh! Oh my goodness, sir, I'll call an ambulance! Hold on and I'll lock onto your phone, tell me where you are, oh sir...” She was rambling now, and usually he'd cut her off, he didn't have the time or energy to spare, but something about hearing her frantic voice was comforting and helped him keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

“No, I'm right on his tail, I have to get him...is there anyone else close by to assist?”

“Um, um...” she stammered, her fingers clicking a mile a minute on her keyboard. “Reid. Reid is two blocks away to the north.”

“Maynard is headed right for him...” Hotch coughed a little, he was losing a lot of blood now and his head was swimming. He blinked hard, squeezed his eyes shut and counted to three before opening again, forcing them to reboot and refocus. “Tell Reid to be ready. I'm right behind him. For godssakes tell Reid to aim carefully, I don't want to get shot twice.” It was meant as a joke, but it came out wrong. Not surprising, jokes weren't exactly his forte. Now he'd owe apologies to Reid and Garcia. He couldn't afford more. He dropped his phone back into his pocket without hanging up and removed his gun from its holster, feeling his shoulder rip little by little, the bullet grinding against the bone. He tried to grip the gun with both hands but he just couldn't make his arm work. Every time he tried to move, he could feel the bullet dig in deeper, so he tucked his arm tight against his midsection and resigned himself to the use of only one hand. He pursued Maynard, gaining speed now, the man's ego was going to be his undoing – he didn't seem worried at all. If he thought he could get a clear shot, he would take it but the sidewalks were so busy and shouting for them to clear the path would alert Maynard to his pursuit, he couldn't risk it. He just needed the man to reach Reid, or come into a clearing. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw something flash and before his eyes could send the complete signal to his brain, he watched as a blue blur collapsed at high speeds on top of Maynard, his gun flying out of his hand and into the busy street. He heard the gun hit, metal on asphalt, and instinctively he moved toward it, to neutralize it. Hotch called out to people to get out of his way and picked up his pace, rushing to collect the gun before anyone else could get their hands on it. When he'd accomplished that, he turned around to see Reid standing above Maynard with his gun aimed point blank, and Morgan on top of the man shouting his rights at him. Where had Morgan come from? Hotch's mind was hazy, the world was losing its clarity, the edges of everything were blurred and shimmery. From his pocket, a tiny voice kept saying “Sir? Sir?” over and over, like a bird endlessly chirping at 4am, but his knees gave out and he found himself in someone's arms – Reid, it was Reid who had caught him. 

“The ambulance is on its way, Hotch,” Reid's voice was flat and reassuring, the kid could always be counted on to be the cool headed one. He could feel Reid press something against his shoulder and he hissed, twisted away from the pressure that shot flames through every nerve in his arm. Reid's hand was covered in blood, so much blood it frightened Hotch for a moment – that couldn't all be his, was it? He hoped Reid wasn't also hurt, that it was all his blood. He didn't remember anyone else getting shot but he didn't really remember how he ended up in Reid's arms either. Adrenaline coursed through his veins but it wasn't enough to keep him awake – as soon as the siren sound became unbearably loud, ricocheting through his skull, he let his eyes drift shut and stay that way. He supposed he'd either wake up in a hospital or not at all, and either way...they got their guy.


End file.
